


At your side

by Dominatrix



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: A little domestic, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie is sick and certainly not pleased about this.<br/>Darcy, however, won't leave her alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At your side

"Get out."  
He doesn't dare to switch on the light; he's sure she would kill him without batting an eye. He just stares into the dim darkness. All curtrains are shut so there's not a single trace of sunlight in the bed room. He tries to stay serious but it's very hard because her voice is muffled and nasal and hoarse but however she tries to stare him down when his lips twitch to form a short smile.  
"I came to look after you."  
"You don't need to. I'll die anyway."

  
"Lizzie" he says softly, almost sighing. They've gone through this conversation four times today. And it's not even late.  
"You've only got a cold. You'll be fine in a few days."  
"No, I'm sure I'll die this time."  
He hides his laughter with a fake cough but he sees in her face that she knows it. Sometimes she's just as dramatic as her mother sometimes - okay, always - is. Of course he would never tell her. He liked his life, and he wanted to keep it a little longer.  
"Sorry. I'm not sane when I'm sick."  
"And you know I don't care, love."  
Whatever her reply was, it sounds like "Hrmph." He suspects it is some kind of insult.

With a low sigh he walks towards the bed and picks Lizzie - who is covered in a bunch of blankets -  up. Her protests are only half-hearted; she's far too tired to really care where he is taking her.

When he puts her down on the couch and re-arranges her blanket stack she narrows her eyes. "Are you planning mischief again? I can smell you are." "I wonder if you can smell anything at all right now." Her laugh ends in a loud cough, and a sound creeps out of her throat that sounds like a zombie searching for brains. "Wait a moment."

He comes back only a few seconds afterwards, a teapot in his one hand and two cups in his other. "You'll be well again very soon."

"Do you promise?" she asks, still distrustful.

"I swear." He sits down next to her and pulls her in his arms while he switches on the TV. She moans.

"Please don't force me to watch one of these talk shows." "I won't" he says with a smile in his voice, already curious how her reaction might be.

The movie has played only half a minute when she shrieks in amazement and surprise.

"Is this..."

"Yes."

"It's Colin Firth."

"I know. I borrowed the film."

"I know you hate him."

"But you don't. I thought I'd told you I watched your videos."

"I'd never thought you remembered anything" she croaks, her voice still only a faint, low sound.

His chin rests on her head while his arms hold her close to his body, and he plants soft, small kisses on her hair once in a while as he hears her mumble lowly because of course she knows every line in the film. Lizzie never forgets anything.

He knows that these two hours will probably be the longest two hours in his life - and probably also the most terrible - but he doesn't care. He's happy.


End file.
